The scent of ground coffee lingered in the air, warm and comforting, but it did nothing to ease the storm inside Catherine.
She tied her apron around her waist, her fingers moving from habit, not thought. The shop had just opened, and the first rays of sun spilled through the windows of Brew & Bean Café—soft gold lighting up the quiet corners. It should've felt peaceful. Safe.
But Catherine's eyes drifted to the phone tucked into her apron pocket. She was waiting. Dreading.
Another hospital bill. Another call from the nurse. Another reminder that time was something her father no longer had in abundance.
She inhaled sharply, forcing a smile as a customer entered.
"Good morning," she said, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest.
Catherine was twenty-one, though most days she felt older. She'd graduated top of her class two years ago. Her teachers had called her brilliant. A future doctor, maybe even a surgeon. But brilliance didn't pay for medicine. Scholarships weren't given to daughters stuck behind coffee counters with sick fathers and unpaid debts.
She poured the espresso like muscle memory, her mind drifting to the worn couch at home where her father slept more than he spoke now. The air in their apartment smelled like old meds and heating pads. Sometimes, she missed the scent of her mother's perfume—faint lavender and something sweeter.
But her mother was gone. Long gone.
And now her father was fading too.
Despite everything—despite the numbers she refused to open in her banking app, despite the hospital's payment reminders—Catherine smiled.
She always did.
There was still warmth in her life: the morning sunlight, the hiss of the espresso machine, the routine that kept her grounded. The smell of cinnamon pastries baking in the back. Her job was far from glamorous, but it was something. She had a roof over her head. She had coffee. And for now, she had her father.
And she had Maverick.
The thought of him softened her smile. He hadn't texted since yesterday, and she hadn't seen him since last Sunday. But he was busy. He always was—corporate meetings, presentations, late nights. He'd said he might drop by today, even just for ten minutes. She clung to that.
They'd been together since 16. He'd seen her at her lowest—after her mom died, when she nearly dropped out, when her dad was first diagnosed. He'd helped in ways no one else had. Paid the hospital bills once when she couldn't. Bought her a secondhand laptop so she could write resumes she never sent.
Even though…
Even though there were bruises he never apologized for.
She shook the thought away as the bell above the café door jingled again.
"Morning, Catherine!" a regular beamed.
"Hi, Mr. Roger! Usual?"
"You always remember. No wonder this place never runs out of customers."
She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her soft pink lips curved upward, her big grey eyes twinkling as they met his. It wasn't a performance. Catherine loved people. She loved making someone's day better, even if hers wasn't.
The Valentine's crowd had already begun to trickle in—couples whispering over cappuccinos, girls taking selfies with strawberry lattes and heart-shaped pastries. She moved through the crowd like she belonged in it, even though her heart felt like it was standing still, somewhere else.
Somewhere between her father's labored breaths... and Maverick's silence.